Kenny Dies
by GlowingHazelEyes
Summary: "I missed him so much. But I knew I'd see him again someday. And that was all that mattered." Oneshot. Warning: death and attempted suicide along with a bit of harsh language


"Cartman, Kenny… Kenny is dead." Stan told me, tears springing to his eyes before he could continue. "He… well, he... um. These… these guys apparently cornered him in an alley, and they… they killed him. Cartman, they beat him to death."

Despite the macabre way to die, I remembered all the times he had died before, and laughed.

"He dies all the time! Why are you even concerned about it, stupid hippie?"

Stan looked aghast, as if what I had said was completely unforgivable. Before he could open his mouth again, I walked away from him, shaking my head.

_Kenny dies all the time. Why should this time be any different? _I ignored the painful twinge in my heart, instead focusing on how I was gonna torture that damn jew the rest of the day. I didn't worry about Kenny; he'd be back tomorrow anyways, right?

Right?

Well, the next day, the poor fuck in the orange hoodie was not back. He didn't come to school, nor did he respond to any of my texts.

_Hey poor asshole. U comin to school today?_

_Agh, u won't answer me? Bastard._

_Ur a little poor ass fucktard._

_Kinny?_

_Um, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then._

_Kinny?_

_I bet ur phone ran outta minutes didn't it?_

_Stan and Kyle are convinced that ur dead forever. I told them that they were fuckin stupid. They got so angry they wouldn't even look at me for the rest of the day._

_U'll be back tomorrow right?_

_Kinny?_

I stopped there for the day, convinced that maybe he wasn't back just yet. But he had to come back. He always had before. I guess… I guess I really took it for granted…

I wouldn't admit it, but I missed him. A lot.

The texts I sent him afterwards were sporadic.

_Kinny?_

_Ur okay right?_

…

_You always come back._

…

_Kenny?_

_Ur fucking with me aren't u? U and Stan and Kyle set up an elaborate plan to fuck with the fatass, didn't you?_

_Umm… Kenny?_

…

_You're doing a good job._

_Um… I'm sorry._

_Come back._

…

_Please come back._

…

_Alright, you did your fucking joke._

_The fatass is crying over you, OKAY?!_

_OKAY YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE._

_I CRIED OVER YOU._

_DOES THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY?!_

_OH MY GOD._

I was fuming. It had been an entire week but I hadn't seen him. He was still playing a joke on me, I bet. Kenny wasn't dead. Not forever at least. But I did see Kyle comfort sobbing Stan in the cafeteria today…

Whatever. They were all fucking with me. Assholes.

_Kenny?_

_Um…_

_Hey._

…

_HEY._

_I LOVE YOU._

_OKAY KENNY?! I FUCKING LOVE YOU._

_I FUCKING ADMITTED IT. I LOVE YOU AND I MISS YOU A LOT, YOU BASTARD. NOW COME BACK ALREADY, THIS IS GETTING OLD._

_Kenny?_

_Kenny…_

_Please answer me._

_I'm sorry._

…

_I'm so sorry._

_Kenny?_

_I don't know exactly what I did, but I'm sorry. I know I'm an asshole sometimes, but you've never let it bother you before. Just tell me what I did wrong, so you can just come back and we can continue our lives as usual._

_Ken?_

_You got me to fucking apologize; now please stop scaring the fuck out of me._

_Stan and Kyle still refuse to talk to me. Tell them to stop their fucking bullshit, alright? They're angry at me for not coming to your funeral. But why should I? You'll be back in a few days._

_Right, Kenny?_

…

_Kenny?_

_Kenny. Please._

_Please come back._

…

_It's been almost two weeks, but you still aren't back. Regardless, you haven't died permanently right? You've fought through too much to die like that._

_Please…_

Stupid fucking tears poured from my eyes. He still didn't answer. At this point, Kyle wouldn't even look me in the eye, that stupid asshole. And Stan… Stan just looked sad all the time. It didn't suit him at all. It was like he was slowly going back into his goth stage, even though Kyle actively tried to keep him happy this time.

Fuckin' homos.

…

But…

I wish I had someone to comfort me too. It used to be Kenny, but…

He hasn't come back yet.

After another week passed, I was actually approached by Stan in the school hallway.

"Decided it's finally time to forgive me, huh?" I spat. I was really pissed off that Kenny had held out his joke that long, and angry at Stan and Kyle for ignoring me.

"Um… well actually… Cartman, I… I-." He stuttered.

"WHAT, Stan?" I blurted, aggravated beyond belief.

"I want you to come with me to Kenny's grave. Today, after school. I think… I think it might help you, um… help you accept what happened to him." Stan sighed, wiping his face with his sleeve before continuing, "Y'know, I've been reading up on the five stages of grief, and I think you still may be stuck between stages one and two. The denial and anger stages. I just thought that maybe, maybe seeing his grave would help you move onto the next step. I mean, Kyle and I were his friends too, but we are actively trying to cope-."

"Stop."

"What Cartman?"

"STOP. Kenny isn't dead; now quit it for fuck's sake. I'm done with all of your bullshit. I bet he's back already, and you are all messing with me. Goddamnit, screw you guys for this. It was never funny, okay?!"

I left Stan standing dumbfounded in the hall, continuing the rest of the day with nothing but our conversation in mind. I really hate to admit it, but it was bugging me a lot. In the end, I did head over to the gravesite, wandering until I found the newest one, which was Kenny's. I wasn't the only one there though, as expected. Stan sat in front of his grave mark, wiping off some snow that gathered on top. He didn't even have to look back to know I was there, the snow crunching under my feet gave me away.

"Hey Eric." He said. His voice was clipped and choked, as if he were trying not to cry. I couldn't actually bring myself to say anything back, so I silently walked over to him and sat, right in front of my best friend's gravestone.

Things were completely quiet for a long time. Honestly, it could have been years and I wouldn't have noticed, or even cared. Kenny's grave sat right in front of me, and fucking hell, I realized he might be permanently buried underground.

I didn't know what to say. I was never good at expressing my feelings, or accepting them. I never learned how to, I guess. But I didn't want to make excuses, so I stayed completely mute and still. Eternity could have fucking passed by and I wouldn't have even known it.

But then, Stan spoke up again.

"Eric?" Stan reached over and shook my shoulder lightly. I couldn't even think. My mind was twisted.

_**Kenny is gone forever. Kenny is gone forever. Kennyisgoneforever. Kenny is gone. Kenny is gone Kenny is gone Kenny is gone KennyisgoneKennyisgoneKennyisgonekennyisgone.**_

I don't know exactly when, but I had apparently started to scream what was going on through my head. I lost myself, and Stan had to shake me and yell before I could calm down again. By that time, I was hyperventilating. Stan took me home, and lied me in bed. Even then, I was still panicking to the point where I couldn't think straight. I knew I had always been a bit fucked up, but after years in this fucking prison and years of mental health issues, I had never realized just how much I hated this goddamn place. I felt like I was slowly suffocating.

As we grew older, I constantly heard from all the other kids about how they wanted to move out on their own and get away from this fucked town. I never could blame them, but I also never thought I would have the courage to get out of here on my own. I desired the need to get out of here just as much as anyone else, but I was terrified. This was the only place I knew, the only place I was used to. And I knew, even when I was young, that Stan and Kyle would get the hell out of this place and make something of themselves, regardless of whether anyone followed them or not. Out of all the messed up kids here, Stan and Kyle were always persistent, driven in making a difference. I secretly always admired them for that. I had wished I could be that confident, that devoted to making the world a better place. But, I just wasn't. I felt like I could never make a difference, no matter how hard I struggled to be better.

I decided to go home and sleep over my jumbled thoughts before making any rash choices. But I couldn't sleep. I could only think about Kenny. Poor Kenny. I… I hoped he was alright…

I found myself praying to a God that I don't even believe in, praying that Ken was okay, that he was alive. He didn't deserve to die so young. He had passed away so many times before that I hadn't taken it seriously. Now that he had been gone for over a month, I was panicking. No one saw my truly fucked state besides Stan, and to my relief, he kept quiet about the whole ordeal. I knew his concern was growing though, I could see it in his face. He never was a good liar. So I tried to keep calm, try to stay myself through this. Then, I finally started to actually believe that Kenny… Kenny was dead.

I went to his grave again afterwards. Apparently Kenny was quite popular. The first day I approached, Wendy was there with Kyle and Stan. The next day, the entire McCormick family was over. And the day after that, Craig was there with Clyde. On the fourth day, when I couldn't wait any longer, the only one there was Butters. I walked over in front of the grave marker, plopping down without saying a word.

Butters said nothing either, until I heard a quiet, "He'll never be back again. I miss him so much." I was speechless, honestly. Hearing someone else express how I was thinking made it feel like I wasn't as crazy anymore. But it also forced me to accept that Kenny was dead. I was out of my mind, and for all I knew I was screaming and having another episode as I had with Stan. Apparently though, this time I must have just shook and cried. Butters shot sad, concerned glances at me time to time, but he didn't approach me or try to speak again. I hope he sensed my gratefulness. I really needed to soak in my own sorrow for a while.

I assume that quite some time had passed, considering the darkness all around us. Right after, when the cold really settled in, Butters got up and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly before leaving. But I still stayed at Kenny's grave. For a long, long time.

In the midst of cold and darkness, I fell asleep. When I woke finally, I could feel my forehead burning with fever and aching tiredness running through me. I couldn't feel any comfort even though I was suddenly lying in my own bed. Mom came in after a while, but I didn't understand what she said. She just looked full of concern and sadness. Concern… and sadness… It was more like pity! Why was pity being directed at me? I wanted to scream at her, scream at her to stop giving me that _look_, the one that Stan and Butters and countless others had given me. I shouldn't be the one they were giving a damn about, that should have been Kenny! He wasn't back, he'd never be back, and nobody understood just how _goddamn _unfair that was after how much shit he'd been forced to death with.

Despite my objections, I once again fell asleep.

When I woke up, I wanted to die.

My body was still in pain, still burning up and sore to the bone. My head was pounding, thudding gracelessly against my skull. The memories of the past few weeks flashed through my head no matter how much I tried to will them away.

Even though my body screamed in protest, I hauled myself to my feet. Half delirious with sadness and pain, I stumbled downstairs, knocking over a ton of shit in the process, including one of mom's weird expensive vases that she left to collect dust in the hallway. As I heard it crack, I idly thought about how she would scold me later.

If there was a later.

My bare feet slapped against the cold tile as I pushed the medicine cabinet open. Absentmindedly, I brushed aside the half-empty bottles of pills, both prescription and over the counter. It was only a matter of seconds until I found what I wanted, a full bottle of aspirin. I popped the lid off, leaving it to clatter to the floor as I filled a glass with tap water with my empty hand. I staggered back up to my room, once again. The ruckus I caused was answered with silence. Mom probably wasn't home. All the better.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring down at my tattered, dirty jeans. At first, I took one aspirin at a time, accompanied with a sip of water. Then I started to take more at once.

_One, two, three, four, six, nine, thirteen, fifteen, eighteen, twenty…_

I lost count after that.

The empty aspirin bottle fell to the ground. My glass was empty. I lied on my bed in wait. A couple hours passed before I felt anything.

"The goddamn movies lie. This fucking _hurts…"_ I cried quietly, one hand grasping my rapidly beating heart, the other clutching my hurting stomach. I rolled over on my side, pushing back the urge to puke. This would all be for nothing if I did something stupid like that.

Eventually, I was numb to the pain. Everything was blurry and hazy, and I couldn't focus. It was the first time in a long time that my mind felt sort of… at ease. I was about to fall asleep when my door burst open, and in came the crying, miserable faces of my mom, Stan, and Butters. My mom stood in the doorway, teary eyed and holding the lid of the aspirin bottle within her shaking fingers. Stan and Butters rushed over to me, Stan pulling me into a sitting position and leaning me over the edge of the bed, trying to coax me into throwing up. Butters had his cellphone in hand, swiftly dialing a number before pressing the phone to his ear. They were all talking, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. Their voices blurred together into incoherent babbling. I passed out just before I realized that I could hear sirens.

And that's how I wound up here, in a crazy person asylum. Sorry, _psychiatric hospital_. I got visits from people almost every day, to my surprise. My mom, Stan, Butters, hell, even Kyle, Craig, and Wendy came to see me sometimes. But I just wanted to see Kenny.

I guess it was pretty obvious that I'd end up in a place like this someday. I wasn't really surprised. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Despite the constant checkups, antidepressant meds, and group therapy, it wasn't that unpleasant. I still struggled between wanting to get out of this place or wanting to die some days. Some days I felt better though.

Nothing stopped me from missing Kenny. I dreamt of him often, him and his stupid orange coat. I wanted to see him so badly. I at least wanted to visit his grave. I missed him so much.

But I knew I'd see him again someday. And that was all that mattered.


End file.
